


Invictus

by pristineungift



Category: Legend of the Seeker
Genre: Angst, Bodyswap, Consent Issues, F/M, Half-Sibling Incest, Implied Relationships, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Multi, Psychological Drama, Sexual Content, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-18
Updated: 2012-05-18
Packaged: 2017-11-05 14:46:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/407637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pristineungift/pseuds/pristineungift
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for prompt “Legend of the Seeker - In 2x07 Darken's spirit is put in Richard's body at the end of the episode instead of Richard's.” A tale of two brothers with unconquerable spirits. A tale of heroes and villains. A tale of trying to be good.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Black as the Pit

**Author's Note:**

> **Beta:** meridian_rose – Thank you for the absolutely fabulous job you did!
> 
> See the end notes for literary references. In Part II I don’t take the time to really explain the plot of 2x07. You may be confused if you aren’t familiar with it. Also, thanks to angstbunny and evilgmbethy, who have heavily influenced certain elements of this story through fic and discussion.

  


  
_Out of the night that covers me,  
Black as the pit from pole to pole,  
I thank whatever gods may be  
For my unconquerable soul._  
  
- _Invictus_  
  
Time was fluid in the underworld. Like the river of green fire that snaked its way through the broken, blackened ground, it twisted and turned, swirling in lazy circles and then rushing forward in an unstoppable torrent.  
  
At times, Darken Rahl did not know if he had been dead for minutes or centuries. Perhaps it was both. Perhaps it was neither. The Keeper did not care for the rules that bound the earth he had helped the Creator forge.  
  
The Keeper did not care for a great many things. He was a fickle master – rewarding Darken for his service one moment, and then torturing him the next, burning him inside and out for some imagined slight, the failure of some impossible task.  
  
Sometimes, Darken thought the Keeper burned him simply because he could. The Dark God augmented Darken’s own meager magic when he was among the living. And now, in death, his spirit was for the Keeper.  
  
Darken Rahl had made a deal of damnation, and he was paying for it. He paid, and paid, and paid.  
  
In the moments when his death seemed only seconds ago, he remembered why he had first called on the Keeper. First spilled his blood in a dark ritual of summoning.  
  
Power. Safety. Love.  
  
He sneered.  
  
He was just a young man. A boy, really. He wanted the love of the father who boasted of a second son. He wanted to feel safe when he laid his head down to sleep.  
  
For both things, he needed power. Power beyond the sparks in his blood. He had more magic than most, but not enough for a Rahl. Not enough for his father.  
  
No, he was a weak heir. A sickly child, with dark hair. Perhaps he wasn’t even a Rahl. Rahls were blonde, everyone knew that. Even as a youth, Darken was too clever for his own good. Clever enough to understand what the courtiers whispered about when his father’s back was turned.  
  
Some said that Panis had been cuckolded. Dark haired Prince Darken was surely the son of General Egremont, or perhaps the Margrave of Rothenberg. The queen was a noble of the Margrave’s court, and she visited home often enough.  
  
 _Just wait_ , the whisperers said. When Panis Rahl died, then they would have their proof. Only a Rahl could command the Rahl Bond. When the prince was unable to, the truth would come out.  
  
Darken never knew if his father believed the whispers.  
  
But it didn’t matter. He’d proved them all wrong, in the end.  
  
Panis Rahl would never love him. Panis Rahl was plotting to kill him through the instrument of this unseen, better loved, second son.  
  
So Darken took the power the Keeper gave him, and he killed his father. The people had a new Lord Rahl.  
  
The first he formed the Rahl Bond with were those who had always doubted his royal blood. Then he killed them and had their heads mounted on the palace gates.  
  
He didn’t say why. He didn’t have to.  
  
In the moments when he nearly forgot who he was, who he had been, none of it seemed worth it. He burned for years, screaming in a pit of green fire, the Keeper’s voice in his ears and the stench of his own singed hair in his nostrils, and treacherous time passed slowly and quickly all at once. He writhed in pain for decade upon decade, each second of each minute of each day lasting longer than his earthly life.  
  
He forgot why he had ever done anything, wanted anything, if he ever was anything . The only part of himself he stubbornly hung on to, that could not be scorched away even by unholy fire, was his name.  
  
 _Rahl. Darken Rahl.  
  
Who spilled the blood of thousands.  
  
Rahl, Darken Rahl, of the house of ill fame.  
  
Rahl, Darken Rahl, the unwanted first son.  
  
Rahl, Darken Rahl, who died in dark flames._  
  
He repeated this mantra, in his mind, in his heart, clinging to the ineffable sense of self tied up in those three syllables. No matter how often and how long the Keeper tortured him, his name kept him grounded. Brought his identity back to him in flashes of red and gold.  
  
His spirit remained unconquered.  
  
And so he moved through the underworld, doing the Keeper’s bidding, biding his time. He was not content to remain here, burning and forgetting, only to remember once more in a cycle of torture for all eternity.  
  
Having spent time in hell, he longed for heaven. Even if it meant earning his place.  
  
It was a dangerous path he walked. A delicate balance. A razor’s edge. He had to both please the Keeper enough that the god would not devote time to torturing him into oblivion, and yet subvert the god’s plans so that he could perhaps attract the attention of the Creator.  
  
He started by watching Richard’s dreams. Willing or not, Richard too was tied to the Keeper. It made Darken grit his teeth, even as he exploited the connection to slip unseen into his little brother’s consciousness.  
  
It seemed he could have nothing for himself, not even the darkness that stained his soul, black as the pit that kept him prisoner.  
  
Richard dreamt often of Kahlan, and children, and even more often of Kahlan and sex. Darken enjoyed those, an invisible watcher.  
  
“You can’t hurt me, Kahlan. You could never hurt me,” Richard would tell his dream woman, before kissing her tenderly, pulling her into his embrace.  
  
In some dreams she readily capitulated to Richard’s desires. In others she protested that she was afraid, that she didn’t want to confess him, giving Richard the opportunity to make grand speeches about the power of love that seldom made any kind of sense.  
  
Night by night, Darken grew to know his brother, perhaps better than he knew himself. It reminded him of the spell he had once used, to make Richard think he was back in that tiny village he’d grown up in. To get him to divulge the location of the third Box of Orden.  
  
Occasionally he grew frustrated with Richard’s sickeningly sweet idea of love making, and exerted his influence on the dreamscape to make things more interesting. Twice he twisted Kahlan’s form into Cara’s, and relished the guilt that flooded Richard for enjoying the dream no less. Once he replaced Kahlan, not with Cara, but with Jennsen, thinking to amuse himself.  
  
He was oddly hurt by Richard’s self-disgust.  
  
But most often when he intervened, he took the form of Kahlan, or Zeddicus, and planted ideas, compulsions, suppositions, to aid Richard in the search for the Stone of Tears.  
  
 _Beware, you go into a trap.  
  
Head north, along the mountain pass.  
  
A screeling has been set loose._  
  
Richard thought he was being guided by his own innate abilities as the Seeker, but it was Darken, whispering in his ear.  
  
And then came the day that Darken felt a ripple in the river of time, a shimmering, spidery ladder into the world of the living.  
  
Someone was experimenting with death magic. With resurrection. Even the Keeper felt it, though he was less sensitive to magic than one thought a god would be. To Darken it seemed that all expected the Keeper to be hyper aware of everything that happened on earth. In truth, it was the opposite. The Keeper was so vast, so distant, that it took immense power to draw his attention to a mortal if he was not already watching.  
  
Seeing his chance, Darken entered Richard’s latest dream, and told him to travel toward the necromancer.  
  
  
  



	2. Bloody, but Unbowed

_In the fell clutch of circumstance  
I have not winced nor cried aloud.  
Under the bludgeonings of chance  
My head is bloody, but unbowed._  
  
- _Invictus_  
  
Darken should have known Denna was involved when he first felt the necromancer’s magic. He was the one who trained her, who broke her, after all. He had molded, and pushed, caressed, and beat her into the woman she was today, breaking her and shaping her in his own image.  
  
Just as he had been shaped when he was younger, softer, and eager to do anything to prove himself.  
  
When he first heard Denna’s plan from the spirits of those she killed to carry it out, Darken was impressed. He hid behind fury, for the Keeper was watching, but he was impressed. Denna was always so clever. So like him. In the end, that more than anything was why he had cast her aside in favor of Cara.  
  
Denna had learned the lessons Darken had to teach all too well, and become more like him than any other he had ever known, living or dead.  
  
As much as he loved her, he also despised her.  
  
But thanks to her, he had before him a unique opportunity. Richard was dead, his spirit in the underworld. That poor, easily broken excuse for a soldier Denna had trained wore the Seeker’s skin.  
  
But that would end, soon enough. A nudge in the right direction, and Richard’s Merry Band was off to save him. They would kill the imposter who masqueraded as the Seeker turned Lord Rahl, and then summon Richard’s spirit back to them with the necromancer’s last potion. Cara would perform the breath of life, and all would be right in the world.  
  
All Darken had to do was wait.  
  
And so wait he did, passing the time by showing Richard all the courtesy his brother had bestowed upon him. Over and over, Darken covered Richard’s skin with green fire, forcing him through the death Darken had suffered and more.  
  
The existence he had faced in the underworld.  
  
Richard had been blessed with everything that was supposed to be Darken’s. Their father’s love, a great destiny, the adoration of the people. And had he earned any of it?  
  
Panis Rahl had never so much as set eyes on Richard, and yet he loved him more than Darken and Jennsen both. Jennsen’s name never even passed their father’s lips. She was worthless to him because of her gender, because of her ungiftedness. She should be angrier than Darken, hate Richard more, and yet she did not, and Darken couldn’t understand why.  
  
And destiny was a thing unearned, unasked for, and often unfair. Darken was born beneath a red star, and so his whole life had been a struggle to stand in the light, to stay alive. He was cast as the villain of his tale before he even took a breath.  
  
Richard was born a hero, covered in gold and honey. His was a fate of legendary good, hard work, and seemingly every woman he ever met falling in love with him.  
  
Undeserved destinies, both of them.  
  
Why was one brother the champion, and the other the scoundrel? Was it some capricious whim of the Creator’s, that decided which would be which?  
  
So Darken tortured Richard, giving him a small taste of what it was to be the disfavored figure of fate, destined to lose.  
  
And then the summons came – the spell that would pull Richard’s spirit back to his body, and Darken smiled. He was expecting it.  
  
All he had to do was grab hold, and the golden life of legend and love would be his.  
  
“Goodbye, brother,” he said softly to Richard, who stood bloody, but unbowed, despite all Darken had put him through.  
  
Then he was whisked away by the necromancer’s spell. The next thing he knew, he was sitting up with a gasp, his eyes snapping open. His chest was on fire.  
  
“Richard!” Kahlan gasped, cupping his cheeks, tears in her eyes.  
  
Leaning forward, Darken kissed her, and was surprised by the sweetness with which it was returned.  
  
Kahlan threw herself half on top of him, and he hugged her to his chest, looking over her shoulder to see Cara watching him, stony faced.  
  
“Cara.” He met her eyes, slightly unnerved when his voice came out not as his usual throaty purr, but in Richard’s smooth tenor. “Thank you.”  
  
He smiled a thin razor smile, and she gave him an odd look. Realizing his mistake, Darken widened the smile until he felt ridiculous, until his cheeks hurt.  
  
Cara nodded to him.  
  
 **-l-**  
The first thing they had to do was settle Kahlan’s sister, reanimated in Lucinda’s body, into her new home. Darken was made to hold Lucinda’s baby while Kahlan and Dennee spoke with the woman’s mother. Fairly certain that Richard had ample experience with children based on his dreams, Darken did his best to look as if he was both happy and competent.  
  
“Stop looking at me like that,” Cara snapped, making Darken lift one eyebrow in question. “I see you staring at the baby, and then glancing at me. No. I will not hold him. I don’t like him. Holding him will not make me like him. I don’t think he’s cute. In fact, he smells bad.”  
  
Darken’s lips twitched.  
  
But before he could retort, Kahlan and Dennee were back, and Dennee took the child from him, goodbyes were said, and they were back on their quest. It seemed Denna had stolen the compass that would lead the Seeker to the Stone of Tears, and they had to retrieve it.  
  
 **-l-**  
It was dusk before Darken was able to get a moment to himself. He struggled to hide his increasingly foul temper, used as he was to being able to command solitude when he desired it.  
  
But that was not what Richard would do, and it was vital that Darken make all of them believe he was Richard. He had no desire to be returned to the black pit of hell.  
  
So he made himself smile, carefully spoke without the accent of a D’Haran noble, and occasionally held Kahlan’s hand.  
  
The last part, he did not mind so much.  
  
There were three things he had missed more than all else while rotting in the underworld. The first was sunlight on his skin. The second was the taste of food on his tongue, the feeling of having his hunger sated.  
  
And the third was the press of a woman’s flesh against his own.  
  
Every time he touched Kahlan’s hand, his body surged with lust, a feverish desire that seemed partly Darken’s own and partly as if this body remembered that it was supposed to love Kahlan.  
  
He grew hot, and hard, and the way his breeches constrained and pinched made him long for the red brocade and velvet of his robes, which had always allowed room for things to… breathe.  
  
After so much time being unable to feel, he could hardly keep his thoughts from fantasies of pushing Kahlan against the nearest tree, hiking up those deliciously slit skirts, and plunging into her. Or perhaps he would bend Cara over that fallen log there, and thrust until she couldn’t speak. He didn’t truly care which of them he had, so long as he had one of them, and soon.  
  
He supposed it would have to be Kahlan, if he was to keep everyone thinking he was Richard. Pity. Cara had certain skills he was certain the Confessor lacked.  
  
If only his brother wasn’t so _faithful_.  
  
When they finally stopped to make camp, Darken excused himself, saying he was going to wash in the river. It was true enough. He was covered in sweat, there was dirt beneath his nails, and he was rather afraid of what sort of smell would greet him when he took off his boots.  
  
It was odd, seeing Richard’s face when he studied his reflection in the water. He would get used to it, he knew, but the sight of it now still evoked a visceral reaction.  
  
 _Envy.  
  
Hatred.  
  
Betrayal._  
  
Those were the things he associated with this face.  
  
There was stubble on his cheeks. Darken decided not to shave. He would look less boyish with a goatee. Longer hair would perhaps also help. He would grow it out and wear it tied back with a leather strap.  
  
His shoulders were not as broad as he was used to. Truthfully, everything about him was a little slimmer. He was just as strong, if not stronger, and he felt more flexible. This body was younger, slightly taller. He did not have quite so many old injuries. He felt almost coltish, as if he were back in his early days of being Lord Rahl, not yet possessed of the gravitas and grace of a king.  
  
Disrobing, he stepped into the river, running his fingertips over his body. Richard had a puckered scar on his abdomen, likely from an Agiel. Darken had a similar one on his thigh.  
  
Except no, he didn’t. This was his body now. His Agiel scar was on his abdomen, and it wasn’t from sexual play unless Richard had taken to sneaking into the woods with one of Cara’s Agiels to pleasure himself.  
  
Darken supposed it was possible. The boy was a Rahl, after all.  
  
He washed his clothes on the bank of the river, and then turned his attention to himself, determined that Richard Rahl was going to be a much better groomed bastard prince from this point forward.  
  
Then he gave into temptation, and let his hands drift between his legs as he thought of conquests past.  
  
 **-l-**  
That night, he presented himself to Kahlan.  
  
He waited until it was her turn to keep watch, and went to sit beside her.  
  
“You should be sleeping,” she chided him, though gently. “After everything, after – ”  
  
“After dying?” he finished her sentence, reaching out to stroke her hand. “When I was down there, in the pit,” he began, an all too real catch in his voice, “there were a great many things I wished I had done. Sleeping wasn’t one of them.”  
  
“Richard,” Kahlan frowned, pulling her hand away.  
  
But Darken would not let her. He caught her wrist, dragging her back towards him, making her face him.  
  
“You don’t understand,” he whispered harshly. “Time there, in the underworld… it isn’t like time here. I was gone… how long was I gone? It doesn’t matter. I was there for years. Centuries. Kahlan, I burned for centuries.”  
  
He didn’t have to feign the brightness of unshed tears in his eyes.  
  
He kissed her, and this time it was not sweet. It was demanding, and savage, and desperate. Kahlan put her hands on his chest, pushing him away, her breath coming in pants.  
  
“This can’t be, Richard, I won’t risk – ”  
  
“You won’t hurt me Kahlan. You could never hurt me,” Darken smiled and cupped Kahlan’s cheeks just as he had watched Richard do in his dreams.  
  
Kahlan whimpered, and then they were kissing again, and Darken pulled her into his lap, straddling him, the hard length of his arousal pressing up into the warm place between her thighs, and he broke the kiss, bending to press his face into her breasts, and they were so _soft_ and he couldn’t wait, couldn’t wait to get her out of that corset, and why didn’t Richard carry a dagger? The Sword of Truth was too long to be useful –  
  
Kahlan bolted out of his lap, knocking him over backwards in the process.  
  
He didn’t sit up until he was certain that he was no longer scowling, his impatience with this whole courting dance carefully hidden.  
  
Kahlan stood across the campsite, her back to him. Her shoulders heaved, but he couldn’t tell if it was from arousal or sorrow.  
  
He supposed he should go to her. It was what Richard would do.  
  
And so he went, though he would have preferred to simply proposition Cara.  
  
Laying a hand on Kahlan’s shoulder, he cloaked himself in sentiment, speaking softly, “I’m sorry, Kahlan. It’s just… being down there. Things happened to me. If you hadn’t brought me back, if we had never gotten a chance… Kahlan, please. Look at me.”  
  
She turned, and Darken saw that tears ran down her face. It was strange and new, to see someone weep for him.  
  
But then, her tears were not really for him.  
  
“We almost lost you today. I can’t lose you a second time!” she exclaimed, loud enough to wake the others.  
  
Darken glanced at their sleeping companions, but all was still.  
  
“You won’t confess me, Kahlan,” Darken answered with absolute certainty, knowing his spirit was immune to confession, thanks to Giller’s potion. “Read it in my face. You won’t confess me.”  
  
It was no longer just about sex. If sex was all he wanted, he would simply slip away in the night and find a willing lass. No, this was about having something that Richard hadn’t, that he couldn’t have, that he would never have.  
  
He didn’t know why it was important, only that it was.  
  
Kahlan pierced him with her blue eyes, and it was funny to Darken to think that his eyes were no longer Rahl blue.  
  
Her mouth dropped open in shock.  
  
“What is it, Kahlan?” he asked, hoping that she had seen what she needed, that now she would give in and let him do things to her Richard had never done, and she would start to love him in ways that she had never loved Richard.  
  
“I can’t read you,” she said in clipped tones layered in disbelief.  
  
The silence went on a beat too long.  
  
“I told you, Kahlan. Things happened to me down there,” was all he said in the end.  
  
After all, trying too hard to explain would only make him look like he had something to hide.  
  
  
  



	3. Wrath and Tears

_Beyond this place of wrath and tears  
Looms but the Horror of the shade,  
And yet the menace of the years  
Finds and shall find me unafraid._  
  
- _Invictus_  
  
Time was fluid in the underworld. Like the river of green fire that snaked its way through the broken, blackened ground, it twisted and turned, swirling in lazy circles and then rushing forward in an unstoppable torrent.  
  
Richard wasn’t sure how long he had been dead. How long he’d been trapped here, in the pit of the underworld, in Darken Rahl’s place.  
  
It took him years to realize that he could move freely through the hellish realm, just as Darken Rahl could. Or maybe it took him minutes. He could never be sure.  
  
He wondered if Rahl had had as much trouble keeping track of time.  
  
He wondered if he could move around and talk to other spirits because he had gained Rahl’s powers when Rahl switched places with him, or if he would have been able to anyway because of the Mark of the Keeper burned into his chest.  
  
He wondered if he had the power to offer the deal, to make banelings, but he never tried.  
  
At times he felt a heavy presence weighing down on him, unseen eyes making his skin prickle with warning. He thought maybe it was the Keeper, but whoever or whatever it was seemed content to do nothing but watch him, so he did his best to ignore it.  
  
He spent his time instead looking for a way out. He walked the length and breadth of the black pit, found a way across the river of green fire, but eventually he realized the underworld had no end. He wasn’t going to find a trench to climb to freedom.  
  
So he turned to reaching out to the world of the living.  
  
He knew Darken Rahl could appear in dreams. That was how he had branded Richard. He’d seen him appear in fire to speak with Sisters of the Dark.  
  
Richard tried. He meditated like Zedd had taught him, he waved his hands in gestures he’d seen both Darken Rahl and Zedd use, he tried both at once – but nothing worked.  
  
He couldn’t enter Kahlan’s dreams. He couldn’t make himself appear in her fire. He tried going to sleep, thought maybe if he was sleeping too he would dream, and then maybe….  
  
But spirits did not sleep.  
  
He’d all but given up when he was met with success, of a sort. He’d spent eons trying to reach Kahlan, Zedd, Cara… he’d even tried reaching out to Shota, thinking that as a Seer she would be easier to contact.  
  
But it wasn’t until he howled in frustration and thought of his body, the spirit of Darken Rahl, that he found the connection.  
  
In a blink, he was in a dreamscape. It looked like a campsite, much like the ones he’d helped his friends set up hundreds of times.  
  
Only Darken Rahl lay nude, reclined against Kahlan’s naked breasts as she fed him cherries, while Cara knelt between his legs, her face buried in his crotch.  
  
“Rahl,” Richard spat, lips twisting in rage.  
  
He tried to ignore the way Kahlan stroked Rahl’s chest, the moans coming from Cara’s mouth. They weren’t real.  
  
“Richard,” Rahl purred, opening his eyes to fix Richard with an electric stare. The man looked as he always had – lightning blue eyes, sooty hair, and olive skin. “I was wondering how long it would take you to learn to exploit our connection. Is there a reason you’re naked?”  
  
Richard looked down at himself. Like all denizens of the underworld, he wore no clothes. Black sand stuck to his skin in places.  
  
“Perhaps you want to join me?” Rahl continued. “Why else would you blunder into my dreams without so much as a loincloth?” Rahl gestured and Cara got up, walking over to Richard to smirk at him before sliding her hands down his abs, his thighs, and then kneeling before him.  
  
Kahlan took Cara’s place between Rahl’s legs.  
  
“Stop it,” Richard exclaimed through gritted teeth, batting Cara’s hands away.  
  
He couldn’t actually feel her touch, dead as he was, but Rahl’s game disturbed him all the same.  
  
“Jealous, brother?” Rahl wound his fingers into Kahlan’s dark hair, arching his hips up ever so slightly. “Don’t be. You can have her when I’m done.”  
  
Richard didn’t make a conscious decision to move. He just suddenly found his fist connecting with Rahl’s face. Rahl fell back, his hand going to his jaw, and Richard was darkly pleased he could still hurt the man.  
  
Kahlan and Cara faded into mist. Richard kicked Rahl in the gut, his skin red with fury. “Why are you doing this? What’s your plan? _Tell me_!” He punctuated each demand with another kick.  
  
“I’d be happy to talk,” Rahl wheezed, rolling onto his hands and knees. “You’re the one – ” He stopped, coughing, then started again, “You’re the one being uncivilized.”  
  
Richard crossed his arms, a muscle flexing in his jaw as he grit his teeth.  
  
“Why can I come to your dreams, but not anyone else’s?”  
  
“We’re connected. By fate, by the Keeper, or by the necromancer’s spell – it matters not. Whatever the cause, our spirits are bound together.” Rahl pulled himself to his feet and the dreamscape changed. Suddenly they were in the throne room of the People’s Palace, and Rahl was dressed in his robes, sitting on the tall stone throne.  
  
Richard wasn’t impressed. “Why take over my body? So you can give the Stone of Tears to the Keeper?”  
  
Rahl snorted, and it echoed throughout the marble hall. “Hardly, brother. I intend to find the Stone of Tears and seal the veil. And unlike you, I will succeed.”  
  
He leaned forward, his hair falling across his cheek as he tilted his head. “ ‘Should the Son of Brennidon seek the stone, he will find it and deliver it to the enemy of the light.’ I’m not the Son of Brennidon, am I?” He smirked, a smug expression that made Richard’s blood boil.  
  
“Why?” Richard exploded, flabbergasted.  
  
“Because I am trying to be good.”  
  
The look in Rahl’s eyes sent chills down Richard’s spine.  
  
“You want to be the one to save the world. You want a place in the Halls of Eternal Peace,” Richard said with sudden clarity, feeling as if the revelation had struck him in the top of the head.  
  
“You understand, and more quickly than I thought you would,” Rahl replied with a somber sincerity that did more to put Richard off balance than all the smug smirks in the world.  
  
They stared for what seemed like an eternity, silence stretching between them.  
  
“They’ll realize it’s not me, eventually. You aren’t the Seeker. The compass won’t work.”  
  
Rahl shook his head. “You are a Rahl, brother, whether you like it or not. And as a Rahl, you carry your magic in the blood – even the power of the Seeker. I _am_ the Seeker, because my spirit is in the Seeker’s body. I can read the Book of Counted Shadows. I can wield the Sword of Truth. And I can use the compass. And more than that – your body possesses a han greater even than Zeddicus’. It was lying dormant. Untapped. But no longer. I am the most powerful wizard alive.”  
  
“You’re lying!” Richard’s nails bit into his palms. “You’ve only been in my body for – for….”  
  
Rahl stood, approaching to lay his hand on Richard’s shoulder. His robes trailed behind him, like a river of blood. “You can’t tell how long it’s been. I know. Time is… different, in the underworld.”  
  
His voice was filled with understanding. Almost kindness.  
  
Richard shrugged his hand away.  
  
“How long?” he heard himself ask.  
  
“Months,” was Rahl’s reply. “We retrieved the compass from Denna, and are now making our way across the countryside. There is a scroll Zeddicus has heard of that will tell us what to do with the Stone of Tears, once we have it. And none of them know. Any differences in my – your – demeanor are explained away by the time spent in the underworld during Denna’s little plot.”  
  
Richard closed his eyes, trying to master the storm of feeling inside him, and Rahl leaned forward, whispering in his ear. “Even now, Kahlan sleeps curled into my side.”  
  
It was too much.  
  
“You stole my life!” Richard cried, reaching for Rahl’s throat. He would choke him in his sleep, keep him from waking, from carrying on with this deception.  
  
“ _You stole mine first!_ ” Rahl retorted, and then he was gone, vanished, the dreamscape melting away.  
  
Leaving Richard standing in the underworld, alone with his wrath.  
  
And his tears.  
  
 **-l-**  
  
Darken woke up with a gasp, then a groan as pain filled his abdomen. Rolling onto his side, he started coughing up blood, the beating Richard gave him in his dreams having as much effect on his body as if it had really transpired.  
  
“Richard?” Kahlan stirred sleepily, her brow knitting in concern when she caught sight of him. “Richard! What happened?”  
  
Then Cara was at his side, probing his ribs with expert fingers, and Darken pressed his lips into a thin white line. “The Keeper,” he ground out as Cara woke Zedd. “The Keeper was torturing me. But Rahl… Rahl saved me.”  
  
“Rahl?” Kahlan repeated as she moved to sit behind Darken, pulling him back against her chest so he could lean against her.  
  
“I know it’s hard to believe,” Darken said in Richard’s earnest way, wincing as he propped himself up against Kahlan. “But Rahl protected me. He doesn’t want to work for the Keeper anymore.”  
  
It couldn’t hurt, to make the Merry Band think of him as something other than an enemy. Just in case.  
  
And it wasn’t as if Darken could tell the truth about who haunted his dreams.  
  
Cara snorted, but Darken ignored her, choosing instead to focus on the feeling of Kahlan’s hands on his skin as she smoothed his shoulder length hair away from his forehead. He didn’t tie it back when he was sleeping, and it had gotten tangled during his nightmare.  
  
Mumbling to himself, Zedd laid his hands on Darken’s stomach, long fingers glowing white with healing magic.  
  
Darken’s breathing got easier.  
  
“There now, my boy, good as new,” the old wizard smiled.  
  
Darken returned the smile, “Thanks, Zedd.”  
  
It was what Richard would do. And besides, once he had discovered the power slumbering in this body, the wizard had been more than helpful in instructing him in the finer points of controlling his magic. Darken had come to regard him with the same sort of fondness he felt for his faithful companion, Egremont.  
  
Getting to his feet, Darken stroked his mustache, then rested one hand on the pommel of the Sword of Truth and with the other gripped the hilt of the dagger he had begun carrying as soon as he found one that suited him. “I’ll take next watch. I won’t be able to get back to sleep.”  
  
Cara simply nodded and went back to her bedroll, as Darken knew she would. She hadn’t changed much since the days when she first began serving him. Efficient and to the point, that was his Cara.  
  
Perhaps if Kahlan continued to rebuff his advances, he would arrange for the Confessor to find him fucking Cara in the woods. He saw the way she watched him. Cara might claim that she followed Richard because he was the true Lord Rahl, but it was more than that.  
  
With Cara, it was always more than that.  
  
She was Mord’Sith, and proud. She wouldn’t bow to a man she didn’t hold some regard for, Lord Rahl or not. Darken had a feeling all he need do was beckon, and Cara would be his.  
  
Or rather, Richard’s.  
  
And knowing that he had ruined Richard and Kahlan’s great romance would be almost as sweet as succeeding where Richard failed.  
  
Then fingers were in his hair, and Darken jerked, startled out of his musings.  
  
It was Kahlan. She smiled at him softly. “I’ll put it up for you,” she murmured as Zedd began to snore once more.  
  
Darken nodded and sat in front of her, letting his eyes sink closed as she ran her fingers along his scalp, gently working out the tangles before pulling his hair back into a horsetail and securing it with a leather thong. He was more used to her little touches now, after months of traveling together.  
  
But they were still maddening. He understood now why Richard had dreamt so often of sex.  
  
Used to having a bevy of concubines and Mord’Sith all willing to please him, Kahlan’s stubborn refusal to risk confessing him no matter his assurances left Darken with aching loins and in an ill humor. Until he could prove to Kahlan beyond a doubt that she was unable to confess him, he was doomed to have her push him away just as things were getting interesting, only to pick himself up and go off in search of a brothel, or at least an awestruck farmer’s daughter willing to do anything for the Seeker.  
  
He’d considered tying her down and running hands and tongue over her until she came undone, her hold on her power evaporating in the moment her pleasure crested, but he refrained. There was no victory to be had there, over Richard or Kahlan.  
  
Darken Rahl didn’t want to conquer Kahlan Amnell.  
  
He wanted her to surrender herself to him.  
  
 **-l-**  
Richard avoided Rahl’s dreams for some time after their first encounter. He wasn’t sure what he could do, what the point of talking to Rahl was.  
  
He didn’t like who he became when he and Rahl were face to face.  
  
So he was surprised when a new spirit entered the underworld and cowered away from him first in fear, and then despair.  
  
“No! _No_! If you’re here, then who…? It’s him, it has to be him. My poor, misguided son…” the old man moaned, writhing on the sand.  
  
“What are you talking about?” Richard asked gently, helping the man to his feet. Sometimes, when spirits first arrived, they were confused, frightened. Richard did his best to help.  
  
It kept him from going mad.  
  
“My boy, oh my boy,” the man cupped Richard’s cheeks. “I’m your father. Panis Rahl.” He started to weep.  
  
“You were with Rahl?” Richard asked, pulling Panis Rahl’s arm over his shoulders to keep the man upright.  
  
“He killed me,” Panis whispered, tears running down his cheeks. “He tortured me with an Agiel until I told him where to find the scroll, and then he killed me. But before I died, he said he forgave me, and asked me to forgive him. I didn’t understand, but if you’re here, then that means he’s – ”  
  
Richard frowned, his gut twisting in knots as he thought of the damage Rahl could do, of how he could hurt Kahlan, and Zedd, and Cara, before they even realized anything was wrong.  
  
“I thought, I thought you were as bad as him, that both my sons were twisted.”  
  
Thinking of the rage that overtook him whenever Rahl was within his sight, Richard wasn’t so certain that they weren’t.  
  
 **-l-**  
Darken’s opportunity to prove his immunity to Kahlan came just after they left the Forest of the Night Wisps. Attacks from those who served the Keeper were becoming more and more frequent as they neared the hiding place of the Stone of Tears, especially now that they knew how to use the stone.  
  
A Sister of the Dark got the drop on Kahlan, quite literally. She flung herself from the low hanging branches of a tree, plunging her dacra into the Confessor’s back.  
  
And ripping away Kahlan’s power of confession.  
  
Seeing his chance, Darken engaged the Sister, purposefully leaving holes in his defense until she took advantage of one, grasping him by the throat.  
  
“ _Richard_!” came Kahlan’s agonized cry. Zedd’s voice joined hers in a vehement denial.  
  
The Sister’s eyes swirled black.  
  
And Darken smiled, cutting her down with the Sword of Truth. With her death, Kahlan’s power of confession was returned to her.  
  
The rest of their attackers were easily dealt with. As soon as their companions were clear, Darken and Zedd caught the remaining Sisters in a cross of Wizard’s Fire.  
  
With his war wizard han, Darken was capable of much more. But he was careful to hide the extent of his abilities. He didn’t want to appear to be learning too quickly. After all, Richard hadn’t grown up with tutors in the arcane arts.  
  
At last all was silent, save for the sounds of them catching their breath.  
  
“You weren’t confessed,” Kahlan clasped his hands, looking up at him as if she didn’t quite believe he was real.  
  
“I told you, Kahlan,” Darken replied, feeling triumph pound through his veins. “You can’t hurt me.”  
  
 **-l-**  
They spent that night away from Cara and Zedd, in a stand of trees lit by moonlight. Kahlan’s hair contrasted beautifully with her pearly white skin, her cheeks rosy, and eyes bright. Darken worshipped her, doing everything he had ever seen Richard dream about, treating her with tenderness, flush with his victory.  
  
The first two times were all soft sighs and sweet surrenders, and murmured words of affection. The third was harsher, animalistic, as Darken did things to Kahlan that Richard would never even conceive of.  
  
She liked it.  
  
She liked it, and Darken smiled, only to frown when she called Richard’s name.  
  
But he was Richard now, after all.  
  
 _He_ was Richard now.  
  
Still, he wanted to slap her, wanted to hear ‘Darken’ on her lips. It was obscene, somehow, to forsake his name, when for so long it was all he had.  
  
 _Rahl. Darken Rahl.  
  
Who spilled the blood of thousands.  
  
Rahl, Darken Rahl, of the house of ill fame.  
  
Rahl, Darken Rahl, the unwanted first son.  
  
Rahl, Darken Rahl, who died in dark flames._  
  
But he was Richard now. Darken Rahl was dead.  
  
 _And he was trying to be good._  
  
  
  



	4. Master of My Fate

_It matters not how strait the gate,  
How charged with punishments the scroll,  
I am the master of my fate:  
I am the captain of my soul._  
  
- _Invictus_  
  
Darken was dreaming of taking Kahlan in their marriage bed, Kahlan’s knuckles white as she grasped the dark wood footboard carved with the symbol of the House of Rahl, when Richard walked through the door, naked, his skin lightly dusted with the black sand of the underworld.  
  
“Richard. How good of you to visit. It’s been so long since we’ve talked,” Darken smiled, not noticing that he smiled wider now than he ever had before he began masquerading as his brother.  
  
He didn’t bother to stop thrusting into Kahlan.  
  
Richard scowled, crossing his arms.  
  
“Am I bothering you, brother?” Darken asked airily, enjoying Richard’s discomfort. His anguish.  
  
His helplessness.  
  
Now he knew how it felt, to see the unrelenting tidal wave of fate sweeping toward you, and being unable to do anything to stop it.  
  
Darken concentrated, and suddenly it was no longer Kahlan but Richard grasping the footboard as Darken slammed into him, hands around the slenderer man’s hips.  
  
The real Richard recoiled. “You’re sick.”  
  
Darken thrust harder in retaliation, ensuring Richard would hear the slapping sound of flesh against flesh.  
  
Richard turned his back.  
  
Darken made sure to moan loudly when he found his release.  
  
“What do you want?” he asked at length, allowing the imagined Richard to fade, sprawling naked on the bed.  
  
“You’re going to seal the veil soon,” Richard answered in a monotone. It was a statement, not a question. “And once the veil is sealed, I won’t be able to reach you anymore. Not if it is the Keeper that binds us.”  
  
“We will arrive at the Pillars of Creation within a few days, if we keep to our current pace,” Darken confirmed, affecting an unconcerned air.  
  
He could taste Richard’s despair.  
  
“And none of them suspect?”  
  
Darken pursed his lips. “There was a time when Zeddicus and Cara accused me of acting odd, but my precious Kahlan defended me. After all, look at what I’ve been through. It would change any man.”  
  
Richard flinched and Darken laughed. “Yes, the irony is rather delicious, isn’t it?”  
  
“Kahlan, I – ” Richard hesitated, then continued. “Please. You have everything you wanted. Just. Tell me about Kahlan.”  
  
“Gladly,” Darken set up, trailing one finger over his lips as he prepared for his final victory. “She loves me,” he began, telling Richard of his nights with her, of the way she arched under him, the way she wanted him, of the plans they made for the future.  
  
“We will be wed after the veil is sealed. I haven’t formerly proposed yet, but there is an understanding.”  
  
Darken watched Richard’s face, waiting for it to crumble. Waiting for the rage, the bitterness, the pain – the realization that it was Darken now who had everything Richard had ever wanted.  
  
They had truly traded places at last.  
  
Richard wept a single tear, and Darken memorized the sight, thinking at last, finally, he would feel content, complete, the void in his spirit filled, the sting of old wounds on the soul drawn by the balm of Richard’s destruction.  
  
But then Richard shook his head. “She doesn’t love you. Don’t you understand? She loves me, and she’ll only love you as long as you keep acting like me.”  
  
Darken stood, red robes appearing around him as he moved. “Words, brother. Nothing but words. I am the one she’s going to marry, I’m the one whose children she’ll bear. I am the hero who will save the world. I am the one they’ll all remember!”  
  
Darken stopped inches from Richard, so close that if spirits breathed he would feel his brother’s breath on his face.  
  
“You’re wrong. One day, she’ll realize that you aren’t me. And she’ll know that it’s all been a lie. And she’ll feel betrayed. She won’t love you.” Richard met Darken’s eyes and laid his hand on Darken’s velvet clad shoulder, and he had the audacity to sound sorry.  
  
As if Darken was the one who lost the war between them, the war that both had been fighting since before they knew the other existed.  
  
Darken slapped Richard’s hand away, his rage building by the second. How dare he! How dare Richard try to take this from him too! This was his vengeance. This was his triumph. He had beaten insurmountable odds, done the impossible, proved that he was master of his fate!  
  
Who else could say they were born a tyrant and died a champion? Who else could say they had escaped the Keeper?  
  
But _Richard_ , his brother, he couldn’t let him have this, couldn’t even do him the courtesy of being cruel.  
  
Cruel words were easily dismissed.  
  
Richard Rahl wept, and somehow Darken felt that the tears weren’t for himself, and he hated him for it.  
  


**-l-**

  
The Pillars of Creation were on the edge of the ocean. Darken stood, listening to the sound of the waves crashing on the sand.  
  
Closing his eyes, he promised himself he would be good. He would be good, and one day he would rule D’Hara again, one day he would find his sister, one day he would hold a daughter in his arms, one day he would have a family, and then he would throw all the swords and armies and brothers and fathers and truth and doubts and darkness into the sea.  
  
The veil was sealed.  
  
He was a hero.  
  
Anything was possible now. He had won. He could have a happy ending.  
  
“What are you thinking?” Kahlan asked, coming forward to put her hand on his arm.  
  
“About all of this. Everything that’s happened,” Darken answered in Richard’s voice.  
  
“You’ve been different, lately,” Kahlan stepped in front of him, looking up into his face. He pushed a strand of her hair behind her ear.  
  
“We’ve all been different lately,” was all he said.  
  
Kahlan reached up, tweaking the ends of his goatee as she was wont to do when she was trying to cheer him up. “If there’s something bothering you, you can tell me.”  
  
Meeting her eyes, Darken asked, “Kahlan, do you love me?”  
  
She laughed, bright and loud, and it lifted his spirit. “Of course I love you. I’ll always love you, Richard.”  
  
 _I’ll always love you, **Richard**._  
  
Darken grit his teeth, his last conversation with his brother echoing through his head.  
  
Kahlan wrapped her arms around his waist, and he returned the embrace, his victory of the moment before turned to ashes.  
  
What was the point of being good, if no one recognized him for it? If the world ever discovered he was not really the Seeker, would any of his deeds since his return to the realm of the living matter, or would the tarnished brush of his old fate touch him even in this new life?  
  
If Richard was right, saving the world wouldn’t redeem him. Dozens of little moments of happiness with Kahlan, with Zedd, and even with Cara would leave no mark.  
  
He was condemned to be the darkness in the night, trapped in the role assigned him, though he had never sought it.  
  
If they wanted a monster, he could give them one. He could reconquer D’Hara, pick up his old knife. He’d kill and rape and plunder, and save Kahlan for last, let her watch it all and think he was Richard, think it was her precious who became the thing she despised. Let her watch him fuck Cara, and Jennsen, and Walter in their marriage bed. Let her see him slice open Dennee’s throat, knowing that ‘Richard’ was worse than Darken Rahl, because Richard had a choice. Richard had all the choices.  
  
Darken had had none.  
  
Let her watch him bathe in her sister’s blood, since only evil seemed to leave a lasting impression.  
  
Why shouldn’t he play the part he was cast in, and play it to the hilt? Why not start now - go to the nearest D’Haran outpost, and proclaim himself Lord Rahl, slaughtering any who would deny him?  
  
Why not make Richard Rahl as reviled as he was once loved, and twice as vicious as his infamously wicked elder brother?  
  
Zedd’s voice calling them to dinner interrupted Darken’s violent thoughts, punctuated by Kahlan’s laugh as the wizard went on to tease them about their romance.  
  
The romance that wasn’t really his.  
  
Why shouldn’t he take his dagger and cut out Kahlan’s heart and leave it gushing blood on the steps of the Pillars of Creation?  
  
After all, it was the only way he could really, truly, have her heart.  
  
He rested his hand on his knife. If he did it quickly, she would be too shocked to struggle. Too shocked to fight back. It would be done before Zedd and Cara could intervene, and then he’d kill them too. His magic was greater, his swordsmanship enhanced by the power of the Sword of Truth.  
  
But he was tired.  
  
Tired of being a monster, tired of paying for his sins. Tired of the flames of the underworld licking over his skin.  
  
Tired of the weight dragging at his soul.  
  
Darken followed Kahlan to the campfire where Zedd cooked while Cara gathered driftwood to feed the flames.  
  
He hoped the wizard had made rabbit stew.  
  


  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
> 
> 
> _______________________________________________________________________________  
> Thank you for reading! I may write more in this universe if there is interest. This particular incarnation of Darken Rahl has a lot more to say in my head. Feel free to comment, con-crit (as in give me examples of how to improve what’s wrong, not simply tell me you don’t like it) welcome.
> 
>  
> 
> **ENDNOTES**
> 
> _Literary and Pop Culture References_  
>  1\. The poem _Invictus_ is an old Victorian poem without an attributable author. ‘Invictus’ is Latin for ‘Unconquerable’.
> 
> 2\. “Having spent time in hell, he longed for heaven” is a reference to _Paradise Lost_. I’m drawing a parallel between Darken Rahl and Lucifer.
> 
> 3\. “Darken was born beneath a red star” is another reference to Lucifer. The anti-christ will supposedly be born beneath a red star. A red star is also generally considered an ill omen in many cultures/religions.
> 
> 4\. Darken being fed cherries is a reference to the character of Azula in _Avatar: The Last Airbender_. They’re very similar characters, so it amused me to connect them in some small way.
> 
>  _Interpretation of Canon_  
>  1\. **Kahlan being unable to read Darken-in-Richard's-Body:** In ‘Extinction’ the reason they send for Renn is because Darken’s spirit is immune to Confessor magic. It’s also part of my head canon that Darken would be unreadable, or at least difficult to read because he would have undergone the same training as the Mord’Sith up until the point of the final transformative magic that would make him capable of the breath of life. At the very least, we never see a Confessor obviously read him on screen.
> 
> 2\. **Darken is the Seeker because he's in Richard's Body:**  In 2x07 and again in 2x19, we are told about the blood/body v. spirit dichotomy when it comes to power. Confessor magic  (and consequently, the potion that makes DR immune to Confessor magic since it is made of Confessor han) is a magic attached to the spirit. So a Confessor who dies and is brought back in another body, like Dennee, is still a Confessor. (And someone who has taken the immunity potion like Darken is still immune if they come back.)  
> 
> 
>   
> But Rahl magic is a magic vested in the blood/body. So a Rahl that dies and is brought back in another body, like DR coming back in Walter’s body, no longer has their Rahl magic. On the other hand, whatever spirit is occupying the Rahl’s original body has the Rahl magic – it doesn’t matter who the ‘tenant’ is so to speak, so long as the body is alive and occupied by –any- spirit, the Rahl magic is intact. Thus, Denna’s plan to put the soldier she trained in Richard’s body.
> 
> So, I knew that DR being in Richard’s body meant he would have the Rahl magic and the war wizard han, because Rahl magic is attached to the body. But I then had to think – what makes the Seeker the Seeker? And I knew that this story wouldn’t work if it was obvious off the bat that Darken wasn’t really Richard, like not being able to use the compass or read _The Book of Counted Shadows_.
> 
> And then I got to thinking – Leo says that they knew someone in his –bloodline- would be the Seeker, they just didn’t know which generation etc. So what if being the Seeker is also a matter of bloodlines? That would explain why Zedd could name himself Seeker in ‘Wizard’, and why Leo’s family knew one of their bloodline would be Seeker one day. So maybe Seekerness is also attached to the blood, and it happens to flow in the Zorander part of Richard’s heritage, and probably Leo is a distant cousin or something and they’re both descended from the Seeker from three thousand years ago in that one flashback episode.
> 
> So that would mean that Richard’s Seekerness is also vested in his body, and that Darken (or whatever other spirit that got the body) would also get the Seekerness – which neatly fixed my story problem of them figuring out he’s not Richard because of not being able to do Seekery things.
> 
>   


End file.
